


380 and Counting

by JDSampson



Series: Counting Kisses [2]
Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Schmoop, phone kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-04 20:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDSampson/pseuds/JDSampson
Summary: A lonely Quinn calls Allen to "chat" but they may not be alone on the line.





	380 and Counting

Allen was helping Mimi with the dinner dishes when the phone rang. Most nights, a call this late would send her into a tizzy knowing that it was likely a call that would take her husband away. But Allen had just returned from four days away and she was chairing the carnival committee for Joel’s school fundraiser so. . .

“Hello!”

A pause. Then the deep, seductive voice of the devil. “Mrs. Hynek. I hope I’m not interrupting dinner. I just need to talk to the Professor for a couple of minutes. Filling out the reports and I can never spell all the science jargon he throws at me. Fifteen minutes, I promise and then he’s all yours.”

Mimi was tempted to hang up and say ‘wrong number’ but the Captain would only call back. Better to get this over with.

“Allen, it’s Captain Quinn for you.” She didn’t bother to cover the mouthpiece and didn’t bother to mask the annoyance in her voice.

“Oh?” Allen dried his hands on a dishtowel, walked toward her then pivoted. “I’ll take it in my study.”

Of course you will.

Mimi brought the phone back to her ear and debated whether or not to make small talk while she waited. “He’s going into his study,” she decided was enough and to that Quinn said, “Again, sorry to disturb you.”

As long as it’s just a short phone call and not another ticket out of town, she thought but didn’t say.

“Mimi,” Allen’s voice came on the line. “I’ve got it. You can hang up.”

“You Bet Your Life is on in a half hour.”

“I’ll be off in plenty of time,” said Allen.

“Good night, Mrs. Hynek,” said Quinn and it seemed like a polite push to hang up already.

“Good night, Captain.” She hung up by pushing the switch, handset still in her grip. She counted to twenty, giving them enough time to start talking so they wouldn’t notice. She turned the mouthpiece up so it wouldn’t catch her breathing then let go of the switch.

Listening in on Allen’s call was a terrible thing to do. It was a breach of marital trust. It was a breech of privacy and very likely a breech of national security. Still, Mimi Hynek listened in and heard. . .

 

 

 

“What can I do for you, Captain?”

“What was the name of that milk truck driver who saw the glowing rocks?”

“Calvin Baker.”

“That’s right,” Quinn said. “Baker, should have remembered because I thought it was funny, him driving a milk truck.”

“Anything else?”

“That chemical you said made the rocks glow?”

“Phosphorus.”

“Spell it for me.”

“P-H-O-S-P-H-O-R-U-S.”

“Just like I thought.” Quinn had a smirk on his face. Allen could hear it in his voice.

“Is that it?”

“Almost. I need to know the final count.”

That one actually gave Allen pause. The first two were ruses – just a reason to hear each other’s voices. He knew that but didn’t mind playing the game. This one. . .

“Final count?”

“Counting. . . “

“Oh! Really? You still getting on me about that?”

“You’re still doing it. And I think it’s extremely important that our reports contain all of the facts. Final count?”

Kisses. How many kisses since they’d kissed the first time? Allen didn’t have to think hard to know the number. He always new the number. “380, which should make you very happy. I know you hate it when it’s odd.”

Quinn chuckled softly and then the sound of ice cubes tinkling in a glass. “At the start of the case it was. . .what? 330?”

“332.”

“Let me do the math this time.” More tinkling, swallowing. Probably had a cigarette in the same hand as the drink. He was talented in that way. “That’s an average of 12 per day. We’re slipping.”

“Well, we did spend nearly 14 hours in airports and on airplanes flying there and back. That cut into your available time.” No kissing in public places, though Quinn had suggested they try the airplane bathroom. Allen had refused.

Quinn sighed, lost in a memory for a moment. “Is there a prize when we get to 400?”

“No. But I have a party planned for when we hit 500.” Allen did a Groucho with his eyebrows even though Quinn couldn’t see it. You bet your life.

Then he heard, Joel calling his mother from his bedroom. It sounded oddly echoey and then he heard Mimi say “I’m coming” followed by her heels clacking across the floor, past his door on the way to Joel’s room.

“Doc?” Silence. “Allen?”

“I’m here. Got distracted.”

“Me, too but in a completely different way, I suspect.” He made this warm, throaty sound – whiskey mixed with honey and it gave Allen a sweet tingle in his lower back. “I just have one more question What number do I need to hit before you’ll go further?”

“Further?” Allen really was confused. He often missed what was obvious to others.

“A close encounter of our own kind?” Nothing. “Third base?” Still nothing. “Seriously, Doc? Imagine what I’m doing for myself right now. How long until I can convince you to do this for me?”

It took another moment then the penny dropped. “Oh!” A hot flush rose in Allen’s cheeks and that wasn’t the only body part responding. “That.  No. There’s no number.”

“You’re lying. You’re collecting data, which means you have landmarks. . . goals. . in mind. I know you.”

“Fine. There’s a number.” Allen leaned back in his chair so he could stretch his leg to relieve the growing ache. “But I can’t tell you. That would be like telling a test subject what results you expect; it invalidates the entire experiment.”

Quinn laughed. “So now I’m an experiment?”

“No.” said in that oddly crooked mouth way he had when he blurted out that word. “Well, yes. Sort of. Besides, if I tell you then you’ll rush to get there, and it won’t be natural.”

“Doc,” slight moan. “I hate to break it to you, but there’s nothing natural about this.”

“Don’t say that.” Mood change.

Quinn sighed. “I didn’t mean. . . geez, I have to watch every word with you. I just want an estimate. 600, 1,000, 10,000. So, I can prepare myself for the wait. Weeks, months, years?”

Allen stretched again but it wasn’t helping. Just the sound of Quinn’s deep tones in his ear. . . “847. Happy now.”

Again, Quinn chuckled. “That’s oddly specific, Doc.”

“It is what it is. That’s the number. Can you promise to play by the rules and not force it?”

“I will . . . most of the time. But there will be those times. . . like right now. . . where I can barely hang on to my sanity and you know. . . .” Another sound, very carnal. Very raw.

“You have to stop that.”  


“Stop what?” Mr. Innocent. He knew what.

“Making those sounds. I have to get up and leave my study and I can’t go out there. . . “

“Aroused? Yeah, that might be hard to explain. Of course, there are ways around that. You could. . . join me. . .close our eyes and pretend we’re in the same room.”

Allen’s hand moved down his thigh like it had a mind of its own. He was just about to touch when—

A knock on the door. “Allen, You Bet Your Life is on in five minutes.”

“I’m almost done,” he called nearly choking on his own choice of words.

Quinn was laughing in his ear. “ _I’m_ almost done but I don’t think you are.”

Into the phone he harsh whispered, “I need to go.”

“That’s not what you need.”

“Michael!”

“I heard. Groucho is waiting.” Disappointment but he’d get over it.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No, you won’t. You have a class in the morning and then I’m gone for three days, checking out a fresh batch of pilots.”

Allen had forgotten. “When you say checking out. . . “

“Nothing but their flying skills, I swear. I’m going to take them up and bring them back down. Then again, I have this buddy in North Carolina who owns me a favor. I could have him call in a sighting. He could say he saw a little green man walking around in his yard. He lives in a nice suburban neighborhood with lots of kids so for the safety of the community, we’d have to drop everything and go investigate.”

“Tempting but Joel’s school carnival is Saturday and I don’t want to miss it.”

Silence on the other end. Allen had crossed the unspoken, forbidden line – no reminders that he had a wife, a child, a life that would be ruined if anyone found out.

“Go watch television with your wife.” Quinn’s way of striking back. It almost took the edge off, but not quite.

“I’ll call you tomorrow night before you leave.” A mumbled grunt of a response from Quinn. “And be careful up there.”

Quinn hung up without saying goodbye.

 

Allen needed another moment to get control of himself, but Mimi was knocking on the door again. She tried the knob. Locked. He jumped to open the door and she nearly fell into his arms.

“I didn’t mean to rush you, but we had plans.”

“We did.” Allen pulled his wife into an embrace, mostly to keep her from seeing the state he was in. But she fit so perfectly in his arms. Smelled so good and she was so very pretty. Out of his league was the phrase that he’d heard time and time again. Maybe, but she’d said yes when he proposed, and they’d been together going on 13 years now.

He combed his fingers through her hair, and she fussed with it to put it back in order.

“We’re going to miss the start of the show.” She started to walk away but he pulled her back. He was still feeling the buzz, but he also felt the pull of her. She was his wife. The mother of his child. She deserved better than she was getting.

“I was thinking, why don’t we skip TV and call it an early night.”

She leaned back from the embrace to look him in the eye – clearly suspicious. “It’s only 8:30 and you want to go to sleep?”

Oh boy. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to go to bed.”

It was her turn to be stumped but not for long. “Allen, really?”

He kissed her lightly and forced himself to turn off any thoughts of kissing anyone else. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll lock up.”

She was still giving him a suspicious eye, but it had softened with expectation. “Alright.”

He walked with her toward the bedroom then veered off into the living room where he checked the front door locks and shut out the lights. He was going to check the patio door when he heard a strange, siren-like sound. The howler tone from the phone.

Allen lifted the kitchen handset, hung it up properly then lifted it again. Dial tone.

Someone had left the phone partially off the hook.

Allen felt a fist grab hold of his heart. Mimi. Had she been listening? For how long? Allen replayed the whole conversation in his head back to when he heard Joel calling his mother and Mimi responding. She must have been on prior to that – thank God. Quinn had been flirty before that moment, but he hadn’t said anything specific, not that Allen could remember.

He went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of juice which he didn’t drink. He had never meant to hurt Mimi. Didn’t want to hurt her or ruin the life they had together. But Michael. . . that wasn’t something he had planned either.

Compartmentalize. Quinn was out of the picture for the next four days. Four days that he’d spend (after teaching class tomorrow) doing everything he could to please his wife and son. Starting with a bit of romance and as he walked toward the bedroom, shutting off lights along the way, he tried to remember the last time he and Mimi had made love.

 

#  #  #

Quinn fixed himself another drink, lit another cigarette then turned on the TV before flopping down on the couch in his small apartment.

847 was a long way away. It wasn’t really fair that the Doc got to make the rules. He was the one sitting here hurting right now. Alone with no one to touch.

‘Say the secret word and the duck will fly down and pay you a hundred dollars. It’s a common word something you see around the house. The secret word tonight is BED.’

“Of course it is.”

847 minus 380 equals 467. More than where they were right now.

‘Folks, won’t you come in and meet Groucho Marx.’

For the third time since the first kiss, Quinn wondered if he’d made a mistake. There was no denying his feelings for the man who was also his best friend and partner. But at this point in his life, with the years ticking by, he wanted to be with someone who didn’t come with baggage and restrictions. He wanted to be loved.

‘Let’s get ready to play, You Bet Your Life.’

‘Name a fool who should know better than to open his heart to someone who can’t fully reciprocate.’

“That would be Captain Michael Quinn, Groucho.”

Correct. You now have 100. How much do you want to bet on the next question?

“Bet it all, Mr. Feynman, that’s the name of the game, right? You bet your life.”

And Quinn was betting his on a wildly romantic notion that an egg-head professor ten years his senior would eventually choose him over his beautiful wife and stable homelife.

The TV went to commercial. “You won’t believe what this man does when he’s not at home. Tune in tomorrow and find out on I’ve Got a Secret.”

Quinn turned off the TV and spent the next two hours working his way through a bottle of Scotch and a pack of cigarettes while imagining what life would like once they reached the magic number.

847.

He wasn’t sure he could wait.

 

The End.

 


End file.
